Bongo

Once there was a cat named Bongo.  Like most cats, Bongo had a secret super power.  Flying cats usually get hit by busses and invisible cats do fine, i guess, though their owners think they have poltergeists.  Bongo had amazing telepathic powers.  Bongo could read minds.
The trouble with a telepathic cat is that humans don't notice their mind is being read, and their powers stay secret forever.  Bongos humans were very active people, full of interesting secrets.  Not nearly enough of these secrets were about crab meat.  Bongo would always know when it was time for the vet, and hide under the bed, but this knowledge was not considered remarkable.  One of Bongo's humans, an older man named Rex, was always buying secret magazines and hiding them in his sock drawer.  Lucy, his other human, knew about the magazines, but did not tell Rex.  She kept waiting for him to buy better magazines and hide them because she was tired of his choices.  Once, the two of them had a guest, who was a human with horrible, demented plans.  He did terrible things to other humans, much like the way cats play with mice.  Bongo sat on his lap all evening, listening to him think about the terrible things he had done.  Bongo liked this man because he was like a cat.
Bongo could read the minds of other cats, but this was not considered to be remarkable, because cats always know what another cat is thinking anyway.  Dogs think even less than cats give them credit for.  Finally, Bongo got old and hid under the bed a great deal.  Sometimes he would listen to stories the man would read, from the pages of those books he kept. Bongo liked these stories more than the ones in the secret magazines.  Sometimes, he would think about Bongo, and Bongo would come up and purr quietly.  Good Bongo, the man would say.

Spook

It all started with one cat.  Spook.  I saved her from drowning one day washing the dishes.  She lived in a coffee cup.  Next, I put her in my coat pocket because it seemed warm there.  I distinctly remember a cat in each of my pockets some time around noon.  My cat was a copy cat.  There was no room for extra pens in my pocket.  I put an open can of tuna in each pocket when i got home and congratulated myself for being such a good daddy to my found kittens.  The next morning, I found Spook on my pillow.  Spook was white now, and had a mustache.  Not a little kitten mustache, I mean a big Dali mustache.  There were at least fifty other cats on the bed with me that morning, all with mustaches.  Some of them lived in my sock drawer, which is clever, because I keep no socks in that drawer.  I had no cat food in the house, so I propped open the refrigerator so they could make sandwiches.  When I came home, they were sitting in a circle.  Plans were being made.  More mustaches.  I no longer had control of the TV programming.  By Thursday, I slept on a bed of cats, and they were voting on everything in the house.  I grew a mustache.